Korrespondenz von Katherine Mansfield an Harold Beauchamp

Absender*in Katherine Mansfield (GB, 1888 - 1923)

Empfänger*in Harold Beauchamp (1858 - 1938)

Date1922

DescriptionTranskription:

Vicgtoria Palace Hotel
6/8 Rue Blaise Desgoffe
Rue de Rennes
Paris

18
m
1922

My Darling Father,
I can't express to you my feelings when I read
your letter. How you can possibly find it in your heart to write
like that to your undeserving little black sheep of a child only
Gof knows. It wrinhgs my heart to think of my ungrateful
behaviour and I cannot understand how I have been the victim
of my fearfulness and dread of misunderstanding. You have
been – you are – the soul of generosilty to us all. Then how
loving you as I do – can I have made you suffer? it is a mystery. I
sometimes wish that we could be nearer to each since
I have been grown up, and not the intolerant girl who returned
to New Zealand with you years ago. But Fate has willed
otherwise.
Believe me, I am not and never shall be unmindful
of what it must have ask you to write that letter to me.
Perhaps one day I shall be able to expresss my gratitude and my

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love…
Darling, it is such a joy to think we may meet this year. My
letters from the gitls at Woodhay(?) are full of your coming and the
preparations for it. Everything they do seems to hve the same end –
even Charlies last watch of marmelade. And they seem to have
done wonders with their garden.
My plans for the immediate future are very uncertain. I know
that in spite of the considered opinion of the Swiss doctors (?) was
too high for my heart. My lungs appeared to improve but my heart
got so much worse that I could do nothing whatever except lie in a
chaise longue. However, I decided the only thing to do was to give the
Swiss treatment a good trial. But withn the attend of the snow I went
to bed and there I remained. If I got up it was only to be attacked
by congestion at once, and I don't think I should have seen the winter
through. For some months previously we had been hearing od a new
treatment for tuberculosis – an X ray treatment which was practised by
a Russian doctor in Paris. It was endorsed by the Larnet(?); we heard of
definite cures. And as my Swiss doctor had promised to do no more
than to patch me up on the best showing I decided to make all inquieries
on the X ray man. I did so. The more I heard the more satisfactory
and 'sound' it seemed to be. Finally, in January, I came to Paris
and saw the doctor who promised me a full and complete cure.
After – as you may imagine – a great deal of consultations. I decided to

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put myself in this man's hands. Jack fully agreed.The worse of treatment
is to last until May, then there is a break of two – three months and then
I must have ten more treatments in the Autumn. According to this
doctor and to his partner I shall then be as well as ever. It sounds rather too
much to believe… The method is to X ray the spleen. This doctor who has
been working for some years at the Pasteur institute, Paris, has discovered that
the spleen is the spot where the blood changes – that if the spleen is fed with
X rays the blood is like wise fed. What a frightful bother, isn't it darling?
Don't think I'll go into the question. I'll supply you with literature if
you are inclined to know more about it. But the fact is my spleen
is lapping up these X rays and I have gained four lbs. and have never had
fever since I started. So the future looks rosy. It's too earlyin the day to
say more. We are living in a quiet, very satisfactory hotel. Jack looks
after me in every way. He is very keen in this treatment, so am I. But
I had had so many disappointments that I can't quite believe fully until I
am further along the road. The girls, who stayed in England for Vera's
sake, hope to come now to Paris in April and see the sights under Jack's
escort. He is a very powerful guide.
I have found it almost impossible to do any work so
far as the treatment is exceedingly tiring. But my new book (The Garden Party) has
been a success and that is a comfort. It went into a second edition
after a fortnight's publication and I really must have had nearyl

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a hundred reviews and notices. They are still coming in. It is to publishers
? in America, Africa, Sweden and the continent. It is extraordinary
the letters I receive from strangers – all kind of people. I have certainly been
most fortunate as a writer. It is strange to remember buying a copy of
The Native Companion in Lambton Quay and standing under a lamp post
with darling Leslie (her brother) to see if my story had been published!
I was so interested in the letters from Arnd May(?) and Ethel
Anderson. What a good letter Annie May's(?) was. He seems to be leading
such a satisfying life, too, with her growing children and the farm. The
more I see of life the more certain I feel that it’s the people who live remote
from cities who inherit the earth. London – for instance – is an awful place
to live in. Not only is the climate abominable but it's a continual chase
after distraction. There is no peace of mind – no ? to be … out
of it. And another thing is the longer I live the more I turn to New
Zealand. Thank God I was born in New Zealand. A young country
is a real heritage, though it takes me time to recognise it. But
New Zealand is in my very bones. What would I give to "have a
look at it!"

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Well, my dearest, dearest Father …
I look forward with all my heart
to our meeting this year either on the continent or in England.
Jack, I know, has written to you. He and I are equally interested
in the Bank of New Zealand reports you send us. In fact Jack
seems to have adopted my country more than I have adopted his.
God bless you, darling,
I am ever your loving and grateful child
Kass.

ClassificationsArchivalie - Korrespondenz

Curatorial Remarks1 eigenhändiger Brief mit Unterschrift

Institution Heine-Institut und Schumann-Haus

Department HH Schriftstellernachlässe